


...Nor the Battle to the Strong: Being the Twentieth Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: The Medallion [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, That would (still) be telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:33:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC





	1. More Rounds Held in a Square Ring

Some days, I was sure the Scowrers would never stop coming. I mean, I had unwittingly defeated the ones squatting in the Realm Proper prior to the Awakening; I had baited a Reaving March attacking the Miners’ domain into their destruction; and I’d witnessed the glider guys taking out a Reaving March over in the lands across the sea. Now there was yet another Reaving March barreling down on the Realm Proper, and I had to stop it or turn it aside.

Oh, yeah: there was a dragon lurking out there, too, and nobody could tell me where it was or what it had been doing since I chased it off with the Coin. This state of affairs all by itself was not conducive to a good night’s sleep; combined with the approaching Reaving March, it was enough to give a man ulcers.

Well, at least Dark Alamsta wouldn’t be behind this Reaving March; the other Scowrer bands that I’d faced without her guiding them as their War Witch had all been just a bit hapless, if no less malevolent. The Reaving March ahead of us would probably (hopefully) be sidetracked by some of the various diversions that I was rolling through my brain to see which might work best here.

The first order of business, however, was reconnaissance and intelligence. If we were to win this fight against the Scowrers, we had to know any number of things about the oncoming Reaving March: how large it was, where it was, how fast it was moving, what route it was taking, and more or less anything else we could find out about it.

Actually, that was the second order of business, now that I thought about it, so I left my quarters and ascended the few flights of stairs that took me to the Reliquary. It was definitely time for a word or two with the First Protector.

Apparently he agreed, for he was awaiting me in his usual spot, unlike a few other times when I had gone up to the Reliquary just to see what was there (mostly old accounts of the Ancient Empire, which would become important later); he greeted me in his usual calm fashion and waited for me to speak.

My first question was, “How can I get the Scowrers to just go away?”

The Shade looked back at me steadily. “You already know that: you must wipe this band out utterly, or they will keep returning forever.”

I winced. “Ouch. So, no admonishment to me to try to settle this peacefully?”

The Shade shook his head. “Have you not read that to everything there is a season? The season of peace is past; now is the season of war.” When I said nothing, he continued, “I will not say that your fears of the foe within you are misplaced, but I will say that I trust you to come through this season without falling.”

I had had no idea how much I needed to hear those words until the First Protector said them to me. Saying “it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders” is trite and overused, but I swear I felt my spine straighten and my posture improve when he told me that.

What the First Protector said next, however, threw me back into confusion. “You will not be bearing the Sword in this war.”

I must have made some kind of noise to indicate my befuddled state, for he elaborated, “This season of war is the time for you to win your spurs, so you must do this without the Sword to aid you; look instead to your allies for aid.”

I left with that somewhat cryptic bit of advice still echoing in my head; fortunately, when the time came, I took it to heart…

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Sheep versus the Herd

So now I needed intelligence, and in every sense of the word; unfortunately, there were many in the Realm who were brave and strong, a few who were very good (or even great) leaders, and even some who could work out frighteningly effective political strategies, but not one military mind among them. This unfortunately included Alamsta, so I had to tell her that she needed to wage the political war while I planned the “shooting” war; fortunately, this had the virtue of being true, as Alamsta was a virtuoso at the whole international diplomacy thing.

One thing I remembered very late in the game was that the vessel that had made the Realm’s earliest forays across the seas had had the ability to become an airship, so I asked Alamsta if we had any like it that we could use for reconnaissance; this again demonstrated how sadly easy it is to impress people with just a simple question. I was a bit annoyed with myself over how long it had taken me to remember it.

A few hours later, I was trying to make sense of what the airship’s captain was telling me. Since he wasn’t trained to observe and report stuff of military significance and I wasn’t trained on asking questions and interpreting the answers, it was a bit of a shambles, but some things were quite clear, and they were all bad.

The Realm wasn’t the target of just one Reaving March: there were no fewer than three coming at us from different directions, and another group of some kind of beasts that I was really hoping weren’t the things I thought the captain was trying to describe. Now, when I’d had to put the Realm into the Big Sleep, there had only been one Reaving March on the way, so it was starting to feel like a case of “out of the frying pan, into the fire”. It definitely was going to be a case of “All hands on deck!”

Some of the hands were more willing than others, but a few timely reminders of what the Realm had looked like when I’d triggered the Awakening were pretty persuasive, as were certain other rewards Alamsta offered (the most persuasive being a free open bar night at the Hand-Spread Stop after the battle—such a surprise, that). Willing or not, I had to whip them into some kind of shape so that they might just maybe have a chance of living long enough to get their booze; essentially, I had to play the part of Von Steuben at Valley Forge, but without the horrible weather and short rations.

At the same time, I had to keep track of each of the four prongs of the enemy’s march, which just happened to correspond with the cardinal directions of north, south, east and west. No points to the Scowrers for imagination there, but hitting us from all directions at once gave them the advantage of more or less locking all the defenders we could muster in place so that we couldn’t shift forces to meet changes on the battlefields; it also meant the Scowrers couldn’t shift their own forces to reinforce an unexpected success or the like.

Keeping track of the enemy grew simpler for all of us as the captain of the airship gained more and more experience at actually reconnoitering in his balloon and I gained more and more experience in his interestingly idiomatic way of relaying what he’d seen.

Another thing I had to do was plan out our lines of defense; getting them built was another of Alamsta’s jobs, and boy, could she get her subjects to work like beavers when she and they had to.

All in all, I was actually feeling somewhat sanguine about our chances against the Scowrers and their mysterious beast allies—right up until the bottom fell out…

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. A Spork in Their Wheels Within Wheels

It turned out that the Scowrers had bought themselves some political allies (the rump state that had once been the mighty Bunny Empire) who would work against us for the low, low price of being left alone by the Reaving Marches. This was somewhat surprising, as the Scowrers were not known either for their political acumen or for turning aside once they were on a Reaving March; it also demonstrated that this was no random confluence of Scowrer groups. Someone had brought them together, fired them up, and pointed them at the Realm specifically, though why remained an unanswered question.

Anyway, divining the why was less important than figuring out how to deal with the Bunny Empire trying to sabotage our relations with everyone else while fighting for our lives as well. Again, I tried to leave as much of this to Alamsta as I could because she’s so much better at it than I am, but there were times when she had to drag me out to impress people with our preparations, leadership, and overall acumen. She said I performed “satisfactorily” by and large, but I still felt like an idiot at each of what I called the “dog and pony shows”.

Eventually, things came to a head with the glider guys: I finally had to threated to grab their leaders and toss them one by one into the Boiling Sea to get them to be reasonable. Some of the other nations began to adopt a more conciliatory attitude, as well, so there was that.

Ironically, the attitude of the Bunny Empire, instead of turning the bunch of bunnies I had liberated from the glider guys against us, had instead the exact opposite effect; the colonies became rather less of a problem thereafter. The Miners were not disposed to listen to the Imperial Bunnies either, as they had once been slaves to that Empire themselves, but the help the Miners could give us was mostly limited to a few shipments of really well made weapons and a lot of barbed wire.

The area outside the Realm was mostly uncultivated and uninhabited for a good stretch; it had been so since the Founding, when Magnatharast had pointed out the wisdom of keeping a buffer zone around the new Realm that would aid in defending it against those who would wish to despoil it. Magnatharast could have been speaking about this very event, since time can be weird in the world of the Realm, but I’ll probably never know for sure.

Be that as it may, there was no one around to object to our building a bunch of passive defenses in rings around the Realm and especially focused on the avenue the Reaving Marches were using to approach the Realm. More active defenses would have to wait until the Scowrers got closer, but I had several ideas there that I wanted to explore.

Ironically enough, one of my ideas for active defenses got tested as a result of our passive defenses: one of the Reaving Marches had to detour around a series of pit traps in their path and blundered right into a patch of Striped Death Mold, which took quite a few of them out of commission. Even though the Reaving March was mostly only inconvenienced by this little incident, it put that March almost a full day behind the other three prongs of the assault.

Now, if only we could slow down another of the prongs or two, we might just be able to defeat them in detail, like Hindenburg at Tannenberg in 1914, or Grant in the final campaign for Vicksburg. It was worth a shot, anyway, given the information I had at the time.

They say “what someone doesn’t know can’t hurt him”; well, in this case what I didn’t know was about to hurt me quite a bit…

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Shift, Space and Carriage Return

Some military mastermind I am: the Scowrers had set a trap of their own and I blindly walked right into it. Fortunately, I was able to get most of my guys away before the slaughter could really get going, but getting suckered like that always hurts.

Emboldened by the mostly accidental success against we’d just had one of the Reaving Marches, I had decided that we needed to go after the force of mysterious beasts to try to turn them back or at least slow them down; I also decided that we should try using the airship we had as a strike platform, dropping our attackers behind the beasts. After all, they shouldn’t be expecting us to hit them from that direction, should they?

When the attack began, I got two shocks in rapid succession: first, they had been expecting our attack; second, as I had feared, the beasts were flightless dragons. Even flightless dragons are a bad proposition for humans to go up against, and these dragons were particularly skilled warriors, so they were almost as bad as dragons who could fly.

The airship could only hold about thirty guys if it wanted to get off of the ground, so I started the fight out with twenty-five guys; I brought twenty back, without even wounding one dragon or slowing the bunch of them down. It was a very expensive lesson in how quickly things can go wrong, and how wrong things can go quickly.

I can’t afford to make another mistake like that one.

The other Scowrer bands now became the priority for our delaying tactics, as it was obvious that we’d need every warm body we could get to fight the dragons. It was far too likely that the dragons could take us on by themselves and prevail, so I needed to start working out how to take them out as effectively as they’d demolished my spoiling attack. And for an encore, I needed to graft functional wings onto all the pigs in the Realm.

I tried everything I could think of: traps, snares, firewalls, and (after more effort than you would believe) even a spork dive-bombing; none of it worked. The one Reaving March was a day behind the others, but the dragons and two Reaving Marches were going to hit us all at once, and I saw no way that the Realm could do anything but die while taking as many of the attackers with us as we could.

I tried to keep my forebodings from showing to the men, as that’s how these things become self-fulfilling prophecies, but a fair number of them had drawn the same conclusions as I had; interestingly enough, this only made them more determined, not less.

We finished building all the defenses we could scrape together by early evening two days before the bulk of the enemy would attack us. I sent everyone home for a good night’s rest while Alamsta arranged for the next day to be given over to festivities and such. I was a bit dubious about how much partying the men could take without crippling for the approaching battle, but it was certainly better than sitting around doing nothing but get more and more antsy as the day went on.

I went up to the Reliquary one last time to try to find some answers that I had overlooked previously; though the First Protector wasn’t there, I lingered in the room, scanning old scrolls and leafing through ancient parchments without knowing what I was looking for, aside from a miracle.

One sentence on a random page caught my eye: “The greatest thing a Protector can have is peace. Not a ‘peace’ which is the absence of a war on the Realm; a peace which is the absence of a war within himself. Whatever you must do as a Protector, be at peace with it.”

Well, that was easy enough to write, but how could I live it when I knew I was about to get good men killed?

I got so caught up in the thought that I almost missed the miracle that I found shortly thereafter…

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Before the Music Stops

The festival day actually went off really well; at least, everyone I saw was having a good time, even before the alcohol started flowing. It was essentially a county fair held in the Castle’s spacious Outer Ward, complete with food, games and entertainers of various kinds.

I wrote that everyone I saw was having a good time: I found out the next morning that they were all deliberately having a good time; that is, no matter what happened, they would not let it make them unhappy, as they knew this could be the last bit of happiness that they could snatch; they were greedily snatching every bit of happiness that they could and not letting so much as a shred slip away from them.

At the dinner hour, the festival split in two: most went in a neat torchlight procession over to the Hand-Spread Stop for dinner and boozing it up; the rest (mostly the diplomatic retinue and courtiers, though some of the courtiers went with the _hoi polloi_ for some darts and beer) were to attend a formal dinner and ball in the Castle.

The food at the dinner was excellent; the company… well, let’s say that open warfare didn’t _quite_ break out, though it was a near thing; there came a point where I wished Alamsta and I could have gone with the other group; and I think everyone was relieved when we finally adjourned from the table to go dancing in the ballroom.

Alamsta still had that magical music box in the ballroom that would play whatever recording you told it to and everyone hearing it would understand the lyrics while still hearing it in the original language, and during the prep time the evening prior she’d asked me to pick the tunes for the dances the two of us would share, and a traditional Realm dance style to fit each. There were going to be several hours’ worth of dances anyway, so I’d picked three selections this time instead of two; I figured that since it was our third dance ball together, we should have a dance for each of them, as we’d had last time. When I’d told Alamsta this, she actually blushed but nodded her agreement.

I had no idea where the dances Alamsta and I would share would fall in the order of dances, as Alamsta had made that decision herself, so I was a little surprised when the very first dance was one of the songs I’d selected, a Lerner and Loewe lyrical ballad that had been a bit challenging to find a dance form that was a proper fit for it; perhaps the fact that the style was somewhat obscure was what made Alamsta put it first, so she could show off with me. Whatever the reason, we stepped out onto the dance floor and led off the night’s dancing.

This first song that I’d picked was from a Broadway musical that I’d seen with my parents shortly before they died; it remains one of my fondest memories, even if I still think Higgins should have had to crawl back to Eliza rather than her coming back to him. Even so, this was (and is) probably my favorite number from the show, since it put into words what I felt when Alamsta brought me back to the Realm.

_“All at once am I_  
Sev’ral stories high  
Knowing I’m  
On the street  
Where you live…” 

All too soon, the dance ended, and I had to switch partners. I found nothing particularly memorable about the next dozen or so dances, except that I never danced with the same partner twice, which meant that just as I was figuring out how the current partner would respond, it was off to the next partner; I’ve written in another of these tales how glad I am that I’ve never had that problem with Alamsta.

Anyway, the next dance we shared was the most “modern” of my selections; I mostly prefer the slower songs of yore to the fast-paced stuff everybody else likes now, or at least where dancing is concerned. Since this was a tune with a nicely distinct beat, it’d been a lot easier to find a dance style for it, and Alamsta and I glided across the floor as easily to it as we had to the first.

Paul Anka’s weepy voice washed over us as we danced, and Alamsta eventually did as the title lyric suggested: she put her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t blame her; the dinner had been pretty wearing on me, and I hadn’t nearly been in the hot seat like Alamsta had, so I drew her a bit closer than I technically should have and we danced on.

For the next succession of dances, there was only really one thing worth mentioning: I had to sit some of them out, as my feet were starting to ache, but the ladies partnered with me were gracious enough to sit and converse with me and the other less hardy folk as we watched those on the dance floor whiz by. I found the conversations actually more congenial than the dancing, to be honest.

The very last dance of the evening was to the song to which Alamsta and I’d first danced in that imaginary school gymnasium so long ago; several of the guests openly stared when I took Alamsta’s hand and led her onto the floor for the last time, and I could hear the furious buzz of whispers flying around the room, but I didn’t care. This was the first song Alamsta and I had danced to, and it was our song, then and now.

_“Let’s pretend those clouds_  
Are islands in the sky  
And let’s pretend we’re ’way  
Up there just you and I…” 

All things must come to an end and the morning would come soon enough, but I was as determined as the others had been earlier to hold on to this happy (dare I say magic?) moment for as long as I could.

It wasn’t until I was back in my chambers and getting ready to settle in for the night that I realized that I’d found the miracle I would need for the coming battle the day before…

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Press Telegraph Morning Edition

Well, we were about to be hit from two directions at once, but fortunately, the directions were only around ninety degrees apart rather than a full hundred and eighty, so we could shift back and forth between endangered parts of the line more easily; we could also encourage the two enemy “columns” (such as they were) to fold into one “column” (hopefully with some nice “friendly fire” added to the mix), thus further simplifying our defensive needs.

The attack came as soon as it was light enough for the Scowrers to see past a bow-shot ahead of them, but they couldn’t quite see us, since we’d been to great pains over the time that they took getting to the outskirts of the Realm in building little camouflaged firing posts all through the border areas. They pressed ahead anyway, a few dropping every once in a while as one of our men found his mark. Soon, they were all within the dense underbrush.

This was when we lit the fires.

Of course, not all of the Scowrers got caught in the inferno we made of that little patch, but most of the bravest, strongest and most aggressive did, since they were the most likely to be up front and the least likely to pull back; it was a good way to decapitate a Reaving March without too many losses of our own.

There were a lot of survivor, though, and they were rather infuriated at what we’d managed to pull off, so they stood off for a few minutes and fired every ranged weapon that they had at us, hoping to thin our ranks as we had theirs. After this, they charged through the smoking ashes of their last attack. After all, we couldn’t burn the burnt-off patch off again, could we?

At this point, a bunch of pipe-heads rose up from beneath the soil and started spraying liquid all across the area; it didn’t take the Scowrers long to realize that it was wood alcohol, now nicely atomized all around and over them, but before they could turn back, one flaming arrow shot into their midst, and another bunch of the Scowrers went up in smoke. There were still quite a few of them left, but only because they preferred to attack in a sort of phalanx rather than a series of lines.

I was really hoping the rest of the battle would go this well.

On the other front, our only mobile unit had lured the phalanx there into chasing them towards the flank of the phalanx on this front; as I wrote above, we were hoping for some “friendly fire” to whittle the Scowrers down even more, but it would take the other phalanx some time to get over here, if they kept the pursuit up that far. We would have to hold off at least two or three more assaults before then.

We had burnt off most of our buffer zone: now the Scowrers could see out first real defensive line, which was a wooden palisade with a horizontal firing slit along the top. Since they could see us, we could see them, so we started firing full volleys of arrows at them as they approached the ramparts.

After they passed a small undulation, the Scowrers practically fell into what they hadn’t seen of our defensive line: a veritable moat of barbed wire between them and our palisade, which is why we didn’t have any spearmen in that line. The Scowrers paused for a few moments before runners began coming up from the rear with bundles of straw, which they started throwing over the barbed wire to make a path for the main force to strike across.

I had the archers fall back to the next defensive line before they could be overrun, but I still had one last trick waiting for the Scowrers when they reached the palisade. They were about to start climbing it when the whole heavy wooden mass fell forward, crushing everyone at its base.

About half the Scowrers were left by now, but they were nowhere near ready to give up. Fortunately for us, this was when the second phalanx showed up, plowing into the side and rear of the first phalanx.

It took maybe another half hour for the Scowrers to get everything sorted out amongst themselves, and by the time they did, there was only one somewhat large Reaving March left for us to deal with.

One down, one to go.

You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned the dragons yet…

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Beasts Bested

The weirdest little thing can change the course of history: a dream that promises victory or defeat; a phobia or a mania skewing someone’s perceptions just enough that they fall into a trap; an acoustical shadow keeping reinforcements from joining a desperate battle nearby; or a fungal infection forcing a change of commanders ahead of an important battle. All these and more like them have made the difference between victory and defeat in the past; one like these was aiding us now against the dragons.

I would never have guessed it, but there’s a connection between the Terror Wings and the dragons, by which I mean that the dragons actually revere the Terror Wings, and especially an albino Terror Wing, which they supposedly consider just short of a god for reasons only a dragon could comprehend. The forests of the Realm were home to at least three albino Terror Wings, and more like five or six, though Terror Wings are hard to study in the wild because they keep trying to eat you, unless you have the Coin.

Before dawn, I had ridden out to the dragons mounted upon an albino Terror Wing. No human has ever ridden a Terror Wing before, and probably none will ever do so again. Seeing this, the dragons had agreed to just go away if I let the Terror Wing go with them, and they even kept their word.

Would that every battle was resolved this easily, but we still had three Reaving Marches to fend off once the dragons were gone. I’ve already related how the morning’s fighting eliminated one of the Marches, but we still had another to contend with immediately and a third arriving the next day.

Around noon, a cold downpour began that turned the space between our lines and the reformed Scowrer phalanx into a sea of mud; while this kept us from using fire as we had during the morning fights or from trying sorties against the phalanx’s flanks and rear, it was actually pretty funny to watch the Scowrers charge ahead only to collapse into a confused pile in the mud like a scene from an old Buster Keaton film.

This is the kind of thing that tends to be left out of history books, as few leaders want to admit that they won a battle because the mud was so bad that the battle was reduced to slapstick comedy; of course, few leaders are asinine enough to send their forces into mud that’s so bad that the battle will turn into slapstick comedy, but we’ve already seen how incredibly bullheaded the Scowrers are when it comes to the Reaving March.

Basically, since the Scowrers were extremely good at close-quarter combat (and not nearly as inept as this account may have made them seem), the key to our successes so far was staying as far away from the Scowrers as we could while still hitting them with spears, javelins, sling bullets and arrows; we’d still taken some losses from the return fire, but it wasn’t what the Scowrers were best at, so we hadn’t been slaughtered as their opponents usually were, and I wanted to keep it that way.

We don’t always get what we want, but at least I managed to delay the inevitable until the light was fading; I also managed to keep the forces we’d have to essentially sacrifice into the oncoming scrum to a minimum.

I sent twenty men into melee against the last bits of the Reaving March to draw them into my final prepared kill zone; they were all volunteers who knew they were going to their deaths, but it still felt like murder.

Even after the last of the Scowrers had been killed, we still had to shift our defenses over during the night to meet the final threat that would come down on us like an angry god when the morning came…

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Big Clam Bakes for Small Fry

The next morning found us all waiting for another Scowrer attack, but none came.

All through the day yesterday, I’d had the airship keeping watch on the last Reaving March to make sure it wasn’t going to cross into the Realm while we were all busy wiping out the other two; according to the Captain, he’d watched until they made camp for the night and returned to base, and who could blame him? When he went out as the dawn broke, the camp was just… gone.

Naturally, the Captain had assumed that the Reaving March had picked up stakes after dark and moved to strike the Realm, so he had the airship search in wide sweeps to try to find them again, but to no avail. It was as if the earth itself had eaten the Reaving March.

Not unnaturally, I went back to the Castle to try to consult with the First Protector. Rather, I started to go back there, but I found myself on the path that led to the Chamber of the Tree instead. I figured that this was a Protectorly instinct thing, so I kept going.

Within the majestic Chamber, the Shade of the First Protector awaited me. At his side was the Shade of the Artificer, who had been known to my world as Dr Preston Andrews, Sc.D. Neither looked terribly happy, so I figured that the disappearance of the Reaving March was not of their doing.

After greeting me, the First Protector told me, “You are correct, Young Protector: we had nothing to do with making the Reaving March vanish. Those who made it vanish will not be nearly so easily defeated as the Scowrers, but you must and shall face them soon.”

The Artificer tsked and told the First Protector, “Sometimes you can be the biggest wet blanket on the face of the earth. I mean, you’re right and all, but he won’t have to take them on in the next minute, or even the next hour, so all you’ve done by intimating that he’s going to be snatched away as soon as he leaves is that you’ve made him start to fret.” Then he spoke to me. “You need to go sort a few personal issues out with Alamsta once we’re done here; you should have enough time if you don’t dither too much about it.”

Okay, that was kind of odd. Before I could remark on it, though, the First Protector told me, “It is not right that matters are left unresolved between you and the Heiress Apparent to whom you have pledged your fealty; it may be contributing to why the Sword is staying away from you. You will need the Sword, but you will need Alamsta’s complete trust and faith even more in the contests ahead, as she will need yours, in her turn.”

I opened my mouth, but before I got even half a syllable out, the Artificer said, “And it’s all very well for you to tell us that she already has your complete trust and faith; you need to convince her that she has it, as part of restoring hers in you.”

Well, what could I say to that? “Is there anything more you need to tell me now, or should I start back for the Castle?” Well, there was that.

The First Protector spoke. “Do not let past betrayal blind you to making an ally of convenience; nor should you surrender your own honor for the sake of expediency.”

The Artificer butted in. “And stop worrying about your own inadequacies already! Yes, they’ll trip you up now and again, but they’ll never make you fall off a cliff.”

Well, it looked like there would be some rough times for me ahead…

…But that’s part of another story.

THUS ENDS

...Nor the Battle to the Strong

Being the Twentieth Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

THE STORY CONTINUES WITH

Old Wounds

Being the Twenty-First Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion


End file.
